


I Don’t Like You

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - Draco joins the Order, Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, POV First Person, non-HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Draco dies in battle and Hermione grieves.





	I Don’t Like You

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written after HBP, before DH. I wanted to explore grief and so, this happened.

_ And all I can taste is this moment _ __  
_ And all I can breathe is your life _ __  
_ 'Cause sooner or later it's over _ __  
_ I just don't want to miss you tonight _ _  
_ __ Goo Goo Dolls - Iris

 

  
I trace my fingers lazily around the casket; the shiny oak clashes beautifully against the serpentine green silk lining that he is laying on. My eyes refuse to meet his face, the face I have come to know so well over the last two months. Our relationship has barely taken off; it ended only three days ago, the day of the final battle, the day Harry Potter conquered Voldemort. Letting my fingers slip over the edge of the casket, I draw small circles on his pale, cold hand. The usually manicured style is destroyed; his nails are chipped and his cuticles turning blue.   
  
My friends, who are crowded around me, have been less sympathetic to my relationship with him the last few months. None of them realize how much we have in common, despite the constant bickering over the purity of blood and the Magical race. In the end, it didn't matter to either of us, so much so that we started seeing each other in a new light. He was my sanity in a war that wanted me to die, and I was his saving grace, bringing him up from the darkest of places.   
  
I remember the day that his eyes turned from the piercing silver daggers into the cool, pacified ocean-grey. It was the day I really saw Draco Malfoy; when I realized there was something more to our hate of one another, not that I was going to tell anyone. I had a charade to keep up: the bookworm hates the prince.   
  
He was told that Voldemort killed his father personally. No, he wasn't worried about that too much because he hated his father more than anything. It was that his mother was next on the list. And she was his rock...until he held her as she broke down in his arms.   
  
_ That day he lacked the warm feeling that fills the body when you know everything will be okay in the end. He looked to me for comfort, and it wasn't easily taken. I cursed him, stomped my feet and downright refused to care. He was a Death Eater, a disgusting excuse for a wizard, a man that had caused so much pain to the world just because he never understood it. I couldn't forgive him for that, though looking at him on his deathbed, I think I should have done it sooner. _ __  
__  
_ I was with Ron then. I did love him, my heart was his and I wouldn't have had it any other way. But in a fury of confusion, due to the death of his brother, Percy, we grew more distant. Perhaps it was that I was ignorant of the death, not wanting to acknowledge that more of the Order died; we lost so many. One thing is for certain, everything happens for a reason and it was Percy's death that led me straight to Draco's arms. _ __  
__  
_ He was at Grimmauld for a month, sulking and hateful of all that was around him. The only reason anyone let him into Order Headquarters was his plea for life, to spare him and his mother. He spun a tale, how true it was, I never asked, about his father's manic lies since was he born, and how he wanted out of it since his incident with Dumbledore's death. Remus was far more empathetic than I, or anyone else, and so Draco joined our ranks. _ __  
__  
_ The agitated feeling in the pit of my stomach at the sight of him reading from the Black family library was enough to drive me over the edge. I forced myself deeper into the den, intent on sending him away, to hide in the depths of his own room. Everyone knew that I stayed there; I was in the den constantly looking for new ways to help the Order. I wouldn't do it in his presence. I didn't trust him - not one bit. _ __  
__  
_ "Get out," I ordered while pointing my finger to the door. "You're not welcome here." _ __  
__  
_ "I disagree. Lupin sent me here to look up a counter curse," he drawled in the most sardonic of ways. He lifted his eyes from the book he was swimming in, and silently offered for me to join him. _ __  
__  
_ I huffed. He was so insufferable. Just because he had everyone else fooled, he didn't have me under his thumb. I walked to the bookshelf and grabbed a book at random, flung myself down on the sofa and opened up to peruse it. I heard him murmuring while he was reading, something that drove me up the wall. It broke my concentration. I stormed over to him and loomed over his sitting form, my eyebrows raised over narrowed eyes. _ __  
__  
_ "What?" He asked me, not even having the decency to look at me. _ __  
__  
_ "Get out." _ __  
__  
_ "No." He still didn't look up, instead he looked more intently at the written words. _ __  
__  
_ "Get out." My foot tapped against the hardwood floor. _ __  
__  
_ "Make me," he mocked childishly. _ __  
__  
_ I grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up from his seat, failing miserably. Instead, I lost my balance and would have fallen on top of him had I not caught myself on the back of the couch. Feeling flustered because of my clumsiness, I felt my face heat up as though it were under a heat lamp. I looked down at him and he looked up at me. I made to move, but paused as I felt his hand on my waist, holding me firmly to where I was: over him. _ __  
__  
_ Whispering almost silently, I pleaded, "I don't like you."  _ __  
__  
_ A moment later he had pulled me down and kissed me so forcefully I had no choice but to give in. I suppose I had a choice, but I told myself there was nothing I could do. Feeling his warm breath on my neck and his hand running up my sides was more than I could handle; I didn't want to say no. _ __  
__  
_ I relaxed into him, my body pressing into his. I could feel his fingers digging into my hips, in a needy, desiring way. I let my knees sink into the sofa, my inner thighs firmly against his outer. The tingles sent down my spine as his fingers danced over my skin was nearly too much to bear. All thoughts of what was right or wrong disappeared and I was lost in his touch.  _ __  
__  
_ His warm, calculating breath on my neck, the flick of his tongue driving me mad...I could hear myself make a noise, not sure if it was out loud or left inside. My shirt was discarded, his buttons were unsnapped. Our bodies were molding together, the heat between us causing me to blush crimson from my chest to my cheeks. It was then that the first sign of affection came; he swept my hair from my face and ran his thumb over my cheek. It lasted a second and was gone quickly, but it was then that my choice was made certain.  _ __  
  
  


I finally let my eyes wander up to his face. For the first time since I heard of his death I feel tears behind my heavy eyelids. He looks peaceful, I admit. But Draco Malfoy is nowhere in this funeral hall; he is not the man in the casket. This man is too pale, too sullen, too quiet and too open to the world. Draco Malfoy, at his best, is none of those things. The man in casket leaves nothing to be desired whereas Draco Malfoy is the epitome of mystery and desperation.   
  
I hate him for leaving me. Just when I had found a calm during the storm, he chose to be righteous, he chose to fight. One tear fell down my cheek the day he left. He never saw it and I'm thankful for it. He died thinking I was safe, that I was happy, and that I had finally accepted his place in the war.   
  
Perhaps the thing that makes me cringe inside is that I never knew how he felt about me. We never spoke of our emotions outside of the war and our friends. We promised just to be a safe haven to each other, that we wouldn't fall in love. I kept that promise and somehow I hoped he would too. Had he thought about me before dying? Did he wish to tell me that he did love me? Would I have said it back?   
  
Another tear leaves my eye and drips from my chin to his hand. The movement around me becomes more insistent. A hand cups my shoulder and pushes me to move on. There is no doubt in my mind that Ron is urging me forward, telling me to get on with it. His hand trails down my arm and to my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. He leads me away from the man in the casket and into the arms of my family, the people we fought along side of during the war. Ron's hand is still in mine as I make my way to Harry. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and lets me cry. Though it is only sporadic and very quiet, he soothes me as though I am shedding a waterfall.   
  
I vaguely feel Harry slip something into the pocket of my robes. Very softly in my ear, he whispers, "From Draco..."   
  
We apparate back to Grimmauld and I walk into the den that I became accustomed to spending so much time in. I sit myself on the couch and unfold the parchment that Harry left in my pocket. Sprawled across it, in scribbled script is:  _ I don't like you either. _ __  
  
I can almost see the cheeky smirk on his face and, for the first time in several days, I smile knowing that sooner or later everything will be okay.


End file.
